Fordommelse
by AvenJackel
Summary: Mia Benson has always lived a normal life on her family farm in Montana. At least, that's what she thought, until a Norse god shows up and starts calling her "pathetic wench". Mia must deal with her allusive family history, a team of city heroes, and a trickster that's in her care. Not to mention her family heirloom that just so happens to be an ancient stone of absolute power.


**A/N: Hello everyone! So, after watching Thor 2 and then rewatching the Avengers, all my Loki-feels returned to me, and this plot just wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to express my love for the God of Mischief by writing this out! I'm not really sure if I'll follow through with this (after all, it was just the result of ugly fangirl tears from Avengers and even uglier fangirl sobs from Thor 2), but if enough people like it (including myself), I may just keep it!**

** So, anyway, I hope everyone likes this and that it's more original than some of the other stuff that I've written!**

** Don't be afraid to review!**

** Love you all,  
~AvenJackel**

** P.S. Fordømmelse means "Damnation" in Norwegian. Thought you guys would like to know that...**

** Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't even own any of the Marvel movies...*Cover pic by Ricken-Art***

* * *

_Step. Step. Rattle. Pause. Breathe. Turn._

_ Step. Step. Shift. Rattle. Pause._

_ Mark. Tremble. Rattle._

_ Step. Step. Rattle. Pause..._

_ Wouldn't it just be easier not to breathe?_

_ Turn._

_ Mark._

_ Rattle._

_ Thud._

_ He was on the floor now, back against the rough rock of the wall and bare feet limply bleeding out onto the ground. They were worn and weathered, layer after layer of skin continuously eroded away by the constant shuffling he had subjected himself to. Identically treated hands rested pitifully in his lap, blisters and callouses long since picked away at by jaggedly bitten fingernails. Blood stained his clothes, a pair of simple black trousers and a long-sleeved black tunic, the dark color sufficiently highlighting the sickly paste-like color of his gaunt face; black hair, greasy and long since uncared for, fell across his sallow cheeks like the curtains of death itself. Green eyes, once so vibrant and gleaming, stared forward with a dead look, not even bothering to flicker towards the cell door when it creaked open upon its hinges._

_ They invited themselves in with thunderous steps, shattering the eerie silence that had plagued the prison cell for weeks. Both figures loomed over him, once again casting him in the shadow that he remembered well from his childhood; the __**only**__ thing that he remembered well from such a time. Neither spoke at first, and he refused to be the one to break the silence. He knew that eventually they would, as they had not simply come to watch how far he had fallen._

_ Or maybe they had._

_ "Look at me, son," the older of the two intruders commanded, voice caught between that of an ancient being ready for sleep, and that of a powerful king with the strength of a nation._

_ "You are not my father," he intoned icily, forcing his voice to work past the scratching dryness of his unused throat._

_ That ancient gaze softened for the slightest second, before melting into the hardened gaze of authority that plagued the being of any king. The ability to force away such caring emotions disgusted the aging man. What kind of man, let alone king, would allow his own son to suffer such a fate?_

_ He knew the answer: the same man that he saw in the mirror every day._

_ "We are trying to help you, brother!" the younger of the intruders argued, spite and anger in the young man's voice despite himself._

_ "You are not my brother."_

_ Although they had been expected, the words still dug like thorns into his heart._

_ "Why won't you let us help you? We are your family!" his not-brother persisted._

_ Always so stubborn._

_ For the first time since the intrusion, the pathetically crumpled figure at their feet moved. His neck twitched, lifting the all-too-pale face in order to lock gazes with the two men before him. Dead green eyes met with the aging blue one of his not-father, then with the youthful ones of his not-brother._

_ "I do not have a family."_

_ It was not the scream of negligence that the two intruders had come to expect, nor was it the tormented cry of the madman that they had seen raving. In fact it wasn't a scream or cry at all. It was hardly above a murmur. It was the dead whisper of the shattering truth._

_ "No. You do not," the eldest of the three agreed with forceful indifference._

_ Those dead green eyes flashed._

_ "You, Loki Laufeyson, have committed treason and betrayal at the highest of offences," the king continued in stern authority, ignoring the dead look of his youngest son and the undoubtedly broken one of his eldest. "You have __**never**__ deserved the title of Odinson. I, King Odin Allfather of Asgard, hereby disown you and all you know. You are never to step foot in the palace of Asgard, never to call her people your own, never to see the realm that you betrayed. For the rest of your eternity, you are banished, cursed to wander a homeless and friendless existence. And never shall you reach out to the safety of others, as they will never grant it."_

_ At that, Gungnir slammed into the ground, and all that the traitor of Asgard knew faded into nothingness around him, to be replaced with the realm of torture that his not-father decided to curse him with._

_ It was almost as if those soulless eyes died for a second time._

* * *

Dark eyes jumped wide open, the only figure in the room jolting upwards as if she had been electrocuted. The girl shifted sharply, sending her petite frame tumbling off of the window seat where she had previously been curled up. Several books, which had been stacked up on and around her lap, tumbled down around her and a lean German shepherd began barking as she groggily clambered to her feet. She stood to her full height, an unimpressive five-foot-whatever, and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

The girl flinched back slightly as she noticed the streaks of drying tears that coalesced down her round cheeks and onto her ratty and stained t-shirt. Wiping those away as well, she shook her head and pressed a calloused yet delicate hand over her heart to try and calm it. It had been strange, the feeling of misery and hopelessness that had swept through her in her sleep. But she shoved it aside, already long since used to such nightly terrors, and crouched to retrieve the handful of leather bound books that had fallen to the floor and lightly pat the head of the aggravated dog, which had been disturbed by the girl's sudden waking.

Outside the window, the same one that had the window seat she so often slept on, a flash of blue-tinted lightning lit up the sweeping fields of Montana. A roaring clap of thunder soon followed, as if to answer the streak of lightning that raced ahead of it. She couldn't help the slight jump that responded to the sudden interruption, before she rolled her wide black eyes at herself and set the books down where they used to be.

As if in response to the sudden storm, barking could be heard from both inside and outside the quaint country home, from the German shepherd near her feet and the other three dogs that resided on the property. The girl cast a fleeting look around the familiar room, the classical library with its stubbornly dim lighting and plush leather chairs, not to mention the shelves upon shelves of aging books that lined every inch, before she turned for the hallway and headed down the stairs to the back door.

Her prized pair of red goulashes were already waiting just inside the back door, and she quickly slipped them on overtop the skinny jeans she had accidentally worn in her sleep again. Three dogs suddenly joined her from behind, eagerly pushing at the back of her legs in order to reach the rain that spontaneously began to pour. Before she succumbed to her dogs' wishes, she quickly reached into the doorless closet behind her.

Making sure to pull on her handed down raincoat and grab a decent-sized flashlight, the girl opened the door. Instantly rain threatened to drown her, but she wrapped her coat tighter around herself and clicked the flashlight on. The three dogs, two lean border collies and the German shepherd, pushed past her legs and raced out, both enjoying the unusually turbulent storm and anxiously racing for the livestock to check on them. Not wanting to fall behind, the girl hurried her steps and jogged after the animals, feet sloshing through the quickly building puddles that turned the grazing fields into marshes.

The downpour was worse than any other storm the girl had encountered, although the winds weren't as bad as she had assumed. Just the amount of rain that splattered into the ground was enough to make her head spin. By the time she reached the barn, the girl already felt as if she had jumped into a pool with her clothes still on. She could hardly see past the globs of water that fell, but she still managed to reach the overnight pen that housed the herd of sheep and goats she owned, along with a Great Pyrenees dog that watched over them twenty-four/seven.

Unsurprisingly, the sheep were restlessly huddled together, seeking both warmth and comfort, but otherwise safe. From inside the barn, the girl didn't hear any complaint from the single horse she owned, the chicken coop was locked up tight, and the pigs were actually enjoying themselves. The only ones who were freaking out were the four dogs that she depended on for everything.

All four of them, even Bear, who never left the herd of sheep and goats, glanced at the girl expectantly, before they sprinted off towards the river that cut between the grazing fields. Not knowing what to do, the girl reluctantly chased after them, hardly able to keep her footing on the now muddy grass. Every so often, the dogs would slow down, pause and wait for her to catch up, only to take off again as soon as she was close enough. Their barks were nearly as loud as the thunder as the girl reached where they finally stopped.

She was at the slight bend in the river that ran through her property. Normally, said river was a mild speed, with just enough depth to dive into it without hitting your head. But, due to the rain, it was quickly deepening, and quickening. The girl knew that this couldn't be what the dogs wanted her to know, as all four, Bear, Gunner, Finn, and even Nana, were persistently barking at a single point along the darkened river bank. Since she couldn't see anything, the girl swung her flashlight towards the spot.

At first, it seemed like there was nothing there, until she focused closer and realized that there was indeed something there. Or, rather, _**someone**_ there. She didn't pause to think much, she just dashed down the muddy river bank, slipping and falling to her knees beside the man who had washed up on her property. Before anything else, the girl rolled the stranger onto his back. Behind her, the dogs continued their persistent barking, staying a fair distance back from the man and restlessly shuffling as if they were facing some wild predator. The girl didn't dwell on that thought.

The first thing she noticed was just how completely _**caked**_ in mud and blood he was. It covered every inch of his body, leaving his face unrecognizable and his hair plastered to his face and neck. His clothes seemed simple, but it was hard to tell with the darkness of the storm and the layers of mud. The man's lower half was still in the now gushing river, his legs dangling in the speeding water precariously, while his torso was the only thing keeping him from slipping off the bank.

In the back of her mind, the girl wondered who this man was and why he was in her river in the middle of the night. She instantly assumed the worst: escaped criminal, murderer on the run, psychopathic hobo. But at the front of her mind, she was more worried about if he was alive or not. Without thinking of the possible consequences (although her subconscious entertained itself with the notion), she pressed her fingers against the stranger's neck.

She wasn't very well versed in the medical field, but she knew enough basic first aid to sufficiently realize that the man was, in fact, still alive. But he was absolutely _**freezing**_. And she knew that his livelihood was possibly only temporary, as hypothermia could easily begin to set in at the temperature he was. Either way, the man was still breathing, albeit his chest rose just minutely, and at an alarmingly uneven rate; and the amount of blood on his face was certainly not anymore settling. It was imperative to get him warm and treated sooner rather than later.

The nearest town was about an hour drive from her farm, the nearest neighbor forty minutes, and the country roads were not going to be easy to navigate what with the storm. The girl made an executive decision, wrapped her arms under the young man's, and began to drag him. He was heavier than she had expected, especially considering his lithe build, and it was near impossible to get a foothold in the slippery mud. Her foot flew back sending her faced down in the squelching mud around her and her flashlight from her grasp. It landed in a particularly deep puddle, the light flickering out and drenching the now muddied girl in completely darkness. She sighed, gathered her bearing, clambered to her feet, and started again.

The going was slow, strenuous, and tedious. Never once did the rain cease or lessen; if anything, the rain increased. She lost one of her goulashes back in a puddle by the barn, and on several occasions she was tripped and knocked to her side by the agitated dogs. Eventually, fed up with the hyper canines, she dropped the man carelessly to the ground and sent the creatures away. Bear hesitantly galloped back to the herd of sheep and goats, Finn and Nana heading for the warmth of the barn, while Gunner obediently quieted and followed the girl a few feet away.

A sigh escaped the muddied and exhausted girl, just as a persistent streak of lightning illuminated the farm. Such lightning strikes became increasingly more frequent, as she gathered up her strength and continued for the farmhouse behind her, the man's bare heels leaving tracks in the mush-like mud. Although she had a distinct strength from working on a farm all her life, she was still of a petite stature, and what was left of her energy was quickly fading.

Just as she was reaching the back door, a gigantic stream of lightning struck a tree at the edge of the girl's eyesight. The lightning stretched across the cloud-blackened sky like a crooked grin, sending a wave of foreboding to the pit of her stomach. In concern, she looked to the tree, which stood mostly alone on a slight hill. Thankfully, although smoldering, the rain was keeping the tree from catching flame.

The girl bumped the door open with her butt, letting it crash flimsily against the wall as she dragged her stranger through it. She allowed her German shepherd, Gunner, to step in after her before nudging the door shut with her foot. Proceeding through the aged country home, the girl headed for the family room, as all the bedrooms were upstairs and she was _**not**_ dragging her raggedy stranger up the steps.

Unceremoniously, she dumped the drenched man onto her worn down couch. She scrunched her nose, not liking how she knew she'd have to clean the sofa, but turned towards the old-fashioned fireplace and set to work getting it started. After a few minutes of fumbling, the girl managed to get the logs to catch fire, almost immediately warming the chilly room. The girl stood up and flipped on the lamp that was placed next to the occupied couch, gazing down at the stranger with both curiosity and guarded suspicion.

Gunner, loyally sitting at her feet, let out a low warning growl, one that she blatantly ignored. Grabbing the piles of blankets around the family room, she delicately placed them over her stranger until he looked as if he were in a cocoon. His face was the only thing visible beyond the wrappings of blankets. It was still caked with mud and blood, but the girl was satisfied enough without stripping him down and completely cleaning the stranger. Sure, keeping the sopping clothes on him would be more than likely to invite hypothermia, but she was _**not**_ going to take his clothes off for him.

"Okay, Mia," the murmured to herself, settling into a chair across the room and intently watching the man's chest rise and fall, how his eyes flickered underneath their lids. Occasionally his face would twitch. "You've got a strange man in your house, where you live alone, and the nearest help is a forty minute drive. Nothing to worry about at all," she continued gravely to herself, letting her head hang with her sandy blonde hair swaying like a curtain.

"Gunner," she spoke up, looking to the German shepherd that was glaring at the man on the couch. The guard dog flicked his ears as if to signal that he had heard her, but remained strictly focused on the stranger. "Watch John Doe for me," the girl continued, before getting up and all but running upstairs.

Mia figured it best to stay safe, rather than sorry, and headed for her bedroom at the end of the hallway. She went for her closet, not bothering with the light, and kneeled to unlock the small safe there, grabbing a handheld Taser, before also taking the wooden baseball bat that leaned in the corner. As if just noticing that she was covered in mud and disgustingly dressed in two-day old clothing, Mia reluctantly headed for her personal bathroom and quickly started the warm water for a shower.

She didn't take too long, worried about the man sleeping on her couch downstairs, and only washed off what was necessary before she hopped out of the shower and slipped into a pair of plaid pajama pants and a black camisole. Once again grabbing her Taser and baseball bat, she hesitantly inched down the steps and back to the family room.

The family room in question was classy and homey, much like the rest of the house, with aged wood flooring and vintage wallpaper. The fireplace was in a centerpiece mantel with decorative carvings, photos lined on top, with the couch in front of the only TV in the house and several plush chairs scattered around the room. At the front corner, where the front of the house was, there were large windows that usually allowed all the morning sunlight in, but now only showed the foreboding storm that rattled the swing and chairs out on the wraparound porch. Placed in the back corner of the family room was a weathered baby grand piano that had seen plenty of years of use, if the various handprints and stains were anything to go by.

Mia settled into one of the plush chairs, fisting her hands around the handles of both the Taser and the baseball bat. She pulled her feet under herself, curling into a modified fetal position, as she steadily watched her mysterious John Doe. Gunner stayed where she had left him, stoically seated between herself and the man, ears erect and muscles tense.

It would've been foolish to fall asleep with a stranger allowed free range in her home, so Mia forced herself to stay awake. Even when the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the chair was more than inviting, the girl kept her black eyes opened and focused. She counted the number of stains on the piano, which was only a few feet from her, and focused on the patterns of the vintage wallpaper in order to keep herself up. The eventual passing of the violent storm and the blessed light of sunrise was a godsend for the weary and frustrated girl, but the shifting figure on the couch was not.

And, after keeping a vigil for three straight hours, piercing green eyes were suddenly focused right on her.


End file.
